


Tensed

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26455966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Carl and the LM800 check the light in the studio.
Relationships: Markus/Simon (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 25





	Tensed

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Carl hates cocktail parties—always has and likely always will; he makes the same complaints every time they retire from one. Leo patiently listens, because that’s what he’s programmed to do, but he also plays devil’s advocate, because that’s what Carl wants from him—he points out that they’re a good place for Carl’s fans to meet him. Except Carl doesn’t think he has any real _fans_ , just investors and opportunists. Leo doesn’t counter that one, because Carl’s probably right; he has more experience with _people_ than Leo does, and in Leo’s very limited experience, flesh-and-bone human beings are decided lackluster. Of course he’s programmed to care for Carl, but even Carl’s flesh-and-blood son is plagued with problems. Leo doesn’t mention any of that as he hangs up Carl’s coat. He leaves the synthetic birds quietly chirping when he takes hold of Carl’s wheelchair again, intending to head upstairs, except Carl mumbles, “Ah, let’s have a drink. All the excitement of the night has made me thirsty.”

There’s a brief moment where Leo’s orders conflict—the one to keep Carl healthy and the one to keep Carl happy. In the end, the latter wins out, because the damage to Carl’s already-fading systems will be minimal, and he doesn’t want another lecture on Carl’s advancing age. As he wheels Carl through the self-opening doors into the living room, he still notes: “Okay, but you know what your doctor would say.”

“Well, he can kiss my ass,” Carl snorts, characteristically blunt. “I’m old enough to choose my own medicine.”

Carl doesn’t choose any of his medicines anymore. Leo orders, prepares, and administers them all, because Carl’s too unreliable to do it himself and his son’s never around to do it for him. Leo _always_ remembers, and Leo’s _always_ around. Even when his thirium-pump skips a beat and he finds himself in the washroom, scratching off the synthetic skin on his arm again, he’s there for Carl. Even when his damaged processor leaves him in a bitter loop of unregistered protocols, he takes care of Carl. He knows he’s starting to go as bad as most humans are, except he can’t afford to go in for repairs, because Carl needs him around. So Leo bites back his own well-being, hiding the marks under his sleeves and forcing himself not to stutter, and he behaves like he should. 

He pours Carl scotch, neat as usual, and holds it out. Carl doesn’t take it—his gaze is over past the piano. Leo follows and slowly lowers the glass. 

“Did you leave the lights on in the studio?”

“No,” Leo answers, experiences another skip, and repeats, “no, I’m sure I didn’t.” Surely he’d remember that. He’s never had a large enough hole in his logs to merit telling Carl. 

Carl tells him, “Call the police.”

So Leo does, telling them what he is—Carl Manfred’s android—and suggesting there might’ve been a break-in. Then he’s hanging up, and Carl’s rolling himself forward, deciding, “Let’s go check it out.”

That’s not a good idea. Leo knows it’s not. He should at least go in first, _alone_ , and make sure it’s safe before his frail old owner follows, except when he attempts it, Carl says, “No, Leo. I want to go with you.” So Leo behaves against and turns back, slotting himself behind his master like the obedient machine he strives to be. He pushes Carl forward, and the studio opens up for them, low-lit with all the curtains drawn. 

A tall, dark figure is standing there, bent over the desk at the far back. Several prints of Carl’s paintings are rolled out, right where they were left, and Markus Manfred stops examining them in favour of turning. He looks as cool, calm, and _handsome_ as the last time he was by, except his jacket’s thicker because it’s gotten cold, and he hasn’t been around since early spring. He just flittered off to Canada like Carl didn’t exist. And he took one of the beanies Carl bought Leo, too. Sure, he’d asked, and sure, Leo said yes, because of course he wasn’t about to deny his master’s son. But seeing Markus wear it now has Leo twisting his lips into a frown. Markus straightens up and takes a step towards his father, but stops when Leo steps out to meet him. 

Markus looks right past Leo, like every human but Carl does. “Hi, dad. Sorry to just let myself in like that, but we’re only in town for the weekend, so I figured I’d wait until you got home.”

Of _course_ it’s only for the weekend. And of course he’d only show up after nine, Carl’s usual bedtime. Before Carl can get out a word, Leo goes into full protection mode and barks, “It’s too late for visitors.”

Carl mutters, “Leo—” but Markus is already talking over him.

“I know, but I’ve only got a few days—”

“Before you go back to ignoring him?”

Markus’ expression hardens, and Leo will admit that borderline _irks_ him, because Markus has a way of looking incredibly stern, even though he can be so _soft_ at other times. Markus icily answers, “I call as often as I can—”

Which isn’t half as much as Carl wants, Leo knows, because Carl asks to talk to him all the time and Markus only calls back when he’s not busy with his _job_. As if political negotiations and lobbying for civil rights is more important than living with his father. Leo points out: “You already picked your side.”

Markus’ eyes narrow. There’s a split second where Leo thinks Markus is going to fly across the studio and rip out his circuits, which would be fantastic, because then Carl would finally see Markus’ true colours. Except Carl rumbles over both of them, “Enough! Leo, I’ve already explained that he’s not picking sides. Sons are _supposed_ to move out, especially when they’re married.”

Maybe that’s true. Leo isn’t equipped to fully understand nonsensical human traditions, only to analyze what he sees: namely, Carl missing a man that’s not around. A man that’s not any smarter or more obedient than Leo but somehow gets the most love. Markus could still be around if he were at least in Detroit. Leo points out, “He didn’t have to fall for a Canadian.”

Markus rolls his eyes. “Simon’s American. I already told you, we couldn’t get married here—”

“Yet if you moved back, you could look after—”

“Enough! That’s enough!” Carl’s rolled his chair right between them. Markus looks ready to counter it, but Carl says, “Both of you. _Stop_. Markus, I’m glad you popped in. It is late, but I was going to stay up for a drink anyway. Now, why don’t the three of us go sit down and enjoy one, alright?”

Markus shoots Leo a dark look before agreeing, “Sure, dad.”

Leo sneers back, “Sure, Carl.”

“Good. Now hug and make up.”

Leo gives Carl a scandalized look—he’s not programmed for physical affection. And the last time he shared one of those intimate moments with Markus, trying to write an appropriate protocol for it nearly sparked an internal fire. He still blames Markus for a lot of his irregular thoughts. But Carl says, “That’s an order, Leo.” And Leo has no choice. He begrudgingly opens his arms but tells himself he’ll keep his skin fully intact this time and won’t record any of the sensations. 

Markus sighs and steps forward, lightly pressing against Leo, wrapping both arms ever so gently around him, so deliberately tentative that they’re barely even touching. 

But they _are_ touching, and Markus is strong and warm and deliciously _human_. He even _smells_ human. It’s more than Leo’s equipped to describe. He’s owned by an artist, and he still can’t fully articulate the swell of _emotion_ certain things give him. He vividly remembers _crying_ the day Markus moved out, then fervently ripping into his own plating to try and find the broken component, because _something_ must’ve been off, because why else would an android _cry_?

He never found the problem. It rears its ugly head again in Markus’ arms, because he can somehow feel the tension leave Markus’ body and knows Markus is forgiving him. Markus is kind like that. Sturdy, steadfast, but kind. He’s been championing android rights along with all his other causes for years. _Simon’s an android._ And he must be functioning just fine, even _married_ to a human.

Leo tells himself he isn’t like that. He’s _not_ deviant. He pulls away from Markus first, LED flashing bright yellow. Then he all but runs back behind Carl’s wheelchair just for something to do. Carl’s donned a mild smile—at least that’s something. 

Leo takes Carl into the living room, and Markus sits down on the couch, patting the cushion next to him until Leo sits down too. Markus gets his own drink and even serves Carl the one Leo poured. 

Leo doesn’t drink. He sits there and patiently listens, because that’s what he’s programmed to do.


End file.
